


My Dearest

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Prompt Fill, QPQVerse, Sweater Weather verse, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Alexander Hamilton/George Washington Tumblr prompt fills. </p><p>Prompt #6: Pretending to hate each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tonsillitis

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Something comforty connected to Alex being in pain with his tonsillitis fic.
> 
> Set before [Pistachios and Popsicles](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F6450361&t=MzJlOGQ2Zjk4YWMzMTc4NjM3YmJiNjYxYmI1NzI4OTlmMjNjZmQwZixpd3NBY1FOSg%3D%3D). 
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

 Alex tosses his laptop bag on George’s couch the moment he walks in the door, sinks to his knees and rolls over onto his back.

“I’m going to die,” he whispers at the ceiling.

“Alex?” George calls from the bedroom. “Is that you?”

He knows calling back isn’t going to do his throat any favors. So he tilts his head back and breathes through his nose. In the bedroom, he hears the bed squeak and soft footsteps vibrating through the carpet. Then, he’s looking up at a very nude and very upside down George Washington, standing over his head.

“Why are you naked?” Alex starts to laugh, but it quickly turns into painful hacking.

“Why are you on the floor?” George counters, frowning. “That’s quite dramatic. Even for you.”

Alex swallows, wincing. “Because my throat is on fire. I haven’t had a thing to eat today. And I can’t breathe. Again, why are you naked?”

George shrugs a shoulder and turns to walk into the kitchen. “I was hoping to surprise you, but if you’re getting sick…what do you need? Tea? A smoothie?”

“No, come back!” He whines, rolling onto his stomach and grinning when George comes back and rounds the corner, one eyebrow arched playfully.  “Come back and lie on the floor with me. You’ll like it.”

George looks skeptical, but he shrugs again and gingerly lowers himself down next to Alex, settling onto his back with a small grunt.

“Stop it, you’re not that old,” Alex teases.

“Too old to be on the floor.”

“Mhmm,” Alex says, inching closer and giving him a firm peck. He leaves his hand resting on top of George’s chest, kneading the hard muscle under his fingertips. “Good god. I picked the wrong day to get a sore throat.”

George rolls over, gently tipping Alex onto back and settling between his spread thighs.

“Lucky for you, my throat is in working order,” George says, making a face almost as soon as the words leave his lips.

“Sexy,” Alex laughs, wrinkling his nose and humming happily when George leans in to kiss along his jaw. “Do you want to move to the bed, old man?”

George rolls his eyes and sits back on his heels, rubbing his hand down the inside of Alex’s thighs, balling his hands around the fabric of his trousers and tugging playfully. “Do you really want to move now?”

Alex grins, spreads his legs a little wider and closes his eyes. No, he definitely won’t be moving any time soon.


	2. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Something comforty after Alex comes home from the hospital after getting shot! Really just want caretaker big fuzzy bear GW taking care of his boy.
> 
> Set after [Outgunned.](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F6381889&t=N2MxODQyMDk0NWU3MTIwNTEwNmQ4M2QwZjkzOWEzYTg3ODBiODliNCx1cnZ1a011dQ%3D%3D)
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

“You can’t keep sneaking out to spend the night here,” Alex whines. “Eliza’s been taking care of me. The physical therapist says next week I’ll be walking on my own. I’m _fine._ ”

George is sitting at the foot of his bed, folding laundry and placing his shirts, pants, socks and underwear in neat, separate stacks. It’s a little surreal - the President of the United States, in his bedroom, sorting his laundry. He’s been home for a little over a week now, and somehow George has managed to stay with him almost every night. It’s…nice. Alex can’t deny that. But he hates feeling so useless. He wants to use this time to cook for George, dance in the living room, bathe with him, get fucked on an actual bed.

He can’t even sit upright without help.

George folds the last T-shirt and squeezes Alex’s calf through the duvet. “I don’t want you spending the nights alone.”

“Eliza’s been -”

“Eliza says you’ve been having night terrors.”

Alex flushes and looks away, resisting the urge to pull his blankets over his head. Of course Eliza told him.

“You aren’t having them anymore. At least not on the nights I stay,” George points out as he stands from the bed, moving Alex’s clothes to the top of his dresser.

“Well, I guess that sort of makes sense, considering nine times out of ten they’re about you, uh - not making it,” Alex says, muttering the last bit.

He doesn’t remember much from that day, but he _does_ remember what was going through his mind the moment he felt the bullet’s impact. _I’m not the target._ Remembers George pulling him down, and even as he lost consciousness, even as he felt the blood soaking his suit, his mind still screamed _George, George, George._

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Alex says off of George’s frown, biting into his lower lip as he crosses over to the bed. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” George says, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing Alex’s hair back with one hand, tugging gently on the ends. “It’s normal, in the face of trauma. Being here with you - it helps me sleep, too.”

George pulls his legs up and slides under the duvet, curling his body around Alex’s and tucking his chin over his shoulder. Alex closes his eyes, focusing on the warm breath against his neck, letting it lull him to sleep.


	3. Speaking Spanish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Would be super interested in seeing something about Alex speaking Spanish (Sleep-talking? International conference at work? Babbling during sex? You choose!) and Wash being amazed that he's casually bilingual and being SUPER HOT FOR IT.
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

“Hey, estoy poniendo en un orden para la entrega?”

George pauses in the middle of shrugging off his jacket, a warmth filling his chest at the familiar sound of Alex’s voice carrying out of the kitchen, into the living room. He folds his jacket over the back of an armchair, quiet, still listening.

“Sí, vamos a tomar las camarones los cuates,” Alex says. “El pan en el lada está  bien.”

The heat in his chest starts to travel downward, and then he’s crossing over to the kitchen and leaning against the doorway, watching Alex pace the tiled floor, his phone pressed to his ear. Alex turns on his heel and smiles when he spots him in the entryway.

“One second,” he whispers, holding up a finger. Then, back to his phone -  “Y luego para el segundo plato…”

George doesn’t listen. He steps forward, backing Alex up against the sink, both hands gripping the counter, caging him in. Alex turns red, half-heartedly swatting him and twisting away as George starts to peck kisses up his neck and along his jawline.

“Que vamos a hacer el pollo saltado,” Alex gasps when George’s hand finds its way down the front of his pants. He steps on his foot, hard, brow furrowed. “Podríamos conseguir frijoles negros adicionales con las comidas?”

George laughs and slides his hand back out, sinks to his knees instead. Alex’s belt buckle gives him a little trouble, but he manages to unfasten it, smiles when he feels Alex shudder as his jeans drop and pool around his ankles.

“Perfecto, gracias,” Alex chokes. George presses his face into Alex’s crotch, nuzzling, he’s already, half-hard - “Sí, sí, sí, esa es la dirección correcta. ¿Cuarenta minutos? OK, gracias. Te veo pronto.”

Alex slams his phone down on the counter, panting. George grins and falls back on his heels, peering up at him through his eyelashes.

“What was that about?” he murmurs, running his hands up and down Alex’s thighs over the back of his knees.

Alex opens and closes his mouth. A mischievous smirk plays at the corner of his lips. He sets his legs a little wider apart. “Are you going to keep going or not?”

—

They’re on the kitchen floor, Alex’s cheek pressed against his chest. He has one hand tangled in his hair. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of the dishwasher.

“What are we doing for dinner?” George asks, rolling his hips to get Alex’s attention.

Alex props his chin up on George’s chest and grins up at him. “I ordered it about twenty minutes ago.”


	4. Mopsey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: alex & washington get a dog!
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

“I have one more present for you – wait here.”

Alex slips off his stool and disappears into the hallway. The party cleared out long ago, but they’ve been sitting at the kitchen island for the past hour, polishing off half-empty bottles of cabernet, tipsily kissing and sorting through piles of generic, uninspired cards and ostentatious gifts.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” George calls after him, setting down his wine glass and flipping open a card from the British Prime Minister. He’ll never admit it to anyone but Alex, but he’s secretly thrilled he won’t have to pretend to get along with _him_ anymore.

Distantly, he’s aware Alex has stepped back into the kitchen. George doesn’t turn around until he clears his throat.

Alex is standing in the entryway, a giant grin spread across his face, a solid black Newfoundland puppy cradled in his arms.

“Happy retirement, babe,” Alex says, scratching behind the puppy’s ears. “She’s a rescue. Her name’s Mopsey.”

George blinks back an unexpected rush of tears. It’s been an emotional day – an emotional _year_. And Alex remembered, all those years ago – the night he mentioned wanting a dog after his presidency, one _they_ could actually raise – not some caretaker hired by the White House.

He slides off his stool as Alex gently sets the puppy on the floor, her tail wagging frantically. She runs to George as soon as she’s free, sliding across the kitchen tiles.

“You have no idea how hard it was to keep her a secret through the whole party,” Alex laughs, leaning against one of the counters, watching. “I thought she’d be perfect for you – for us. Newfoundlands are known for being gentle giants, you know? And when she gets bigger, you’ll love taking her outside for all that healthy shit you do.”

George runs a hand over Mopsey’s head, smiling when she twists her neck back to lick his palm. “You know when she’s an adult she’ll weigh almost as much as you?”

“I’m aware,” Alex says dryly. “I have one condition – she’s not allowed in the bed. I’m not getting kicked out.”

George laughs and Mopsey yaps in response, ears perked, head cocked to one side.

“She’ll love living here,” Alex says. “Mount Vernon’s big enough for her to run around. And if we get that house outside of Hampton we’ve been looking at…”

“It’ll be perfect,” George says, scooping Mopsey up and holding her against his chest, wrinkling his nose when she licks his cheek. “She’s perfect. Thank you.”


	5. Overworked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: modern au (qpq or not). alex characteristically overworks to the point of illness/exhaustion and gw intervenes.
> 
> Part of the [Sweater Weather](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6570712) verse, but all you really need to know about that is that Alex works as a freelance writer. 
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr - prompt me there!

It’s been nearly four months since their first date. Everything still feels fresh and exciting, but there’s still a sense of familiarity settling in, their lives already cementing together like two pieces of a puzzle.

George senses that Alex has never taken anything slow. And George, well – he’s never been much of a casual dater.  He’s always craved structure and stability - two things he didn’t think he’d find in someone like Alex, but, he’s surprised George in more ways than he can count.

They’re so very unalike that it works. George has never quite believed in the saying that opposites attract, but with Alex it couldn’t be more true. There are parts of Alex that he knows should drive him crazy -  characteristics and mannerisms that have even caused breakups in past relationships. Alex isn’t always on time. He’s confrontational, set off by the smallest inconveniences. He talks too much. Sometimes over movies and television shows, sometimes when George has had a long day and just wants _quiet._ He’s even condescending at times, unintentionally, which George finds almost funny, given the over twenty years between them.

But George is fairly certain he’s falling in love. He’s been in love before - he knows what it feels like to look at a person’s faults and quirks and realize something that used to be a deal-breaker simply isn’t anymore.

So, when Alex cancels two dinner dates in a row, George sets aside his own insecurities and frustrations and asks Alex to come to his home, instead. It’s like pulling teeth, but Alex agrees.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Alex says when he arrives, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. George notices the dark circles under his eyes, first. Then, it’s the loose hang of his jeans and his hollowed-out cheeks. There’s an almost gray tint to his skin.

“Alex,” George says, not bothering to hide his alarm as he helps Alex remove his bag and jacket. He leads him through the house and into the kitchen, gently pushing him down into a chair. “You don’t look well.”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate,” Alex says. “I have three different assignments due in a couple weeks, and then the Post - they’re thinking of bringing me on full-time - ”

“Alex! That’s amazing,” George says, setting a glass of water down in front of him. He pulls a couple takeout menus off of the fridge and tosses them onto the table as well. Alex has miraculously been sustaining himself on freelance assignments since arriving in D.C., so a position at one of the most respected papers in the city? That’s - that’s _huge._ “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They only told _me_ yesterday,” Alex answers around a yawn, flipping open one of the takeout menus and closing it just as quickly. “I can’t stay for long, babe. They only gave me a week to complete the writing test on top of the assignment itself, and if I don’t jump on that now, I’m not going to finish the rest of my work, and _then_ I’m not going to be able to pay my half of the rent -”

“Wait, slow down,” George says, pulling out a chair and sitting next to him. “You have three assignments due in two weeks?”

Alex nods. “One’s just about done, the other two require more legwork, but - ”

“Ask for an extension on your deadline,” George says. Alex looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “I’m serious. Editors usually have a cushion so they’re not blindsided by latecomers, right? If you’ve worked with them before, they’ll trust you. Ask for an extension on the three assignments and focus on the work for the Post, instead. They’re the ones with the job offer.”

“I need the checks sooner rather than later,” Alex says. George waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll cover your rent - and you can pay me back as soon as you can, if that makes you uncomfortable,” he tacks on when Alex opens his mouth in what George is certain is an attempt to protest.

“OK,” Alex says after a moment, staring at his untouched water. “OK, fine. Can you bring me my laptop? I’ll email now and - ”

George shakes his head and stands up, circling around Alex’s chair and squeezing his shoulders. “It’s a Friday evening. No one’s checking their email. No one’s working - including you.”

“George - ”

“Shh,” George hushes him and pulls him to his feet. He keeps his hands on his shoulders and steers him toward the bedroom. “You’re staying with me this weekend.”

“What?” Alex snaps, glaring over his shoulder. “You can’t just lock me in your house until Sunday.”

“No,” George agrees. “But I think I can convince you to stay.”

He turns Alex back around and tugs him into a kiss, biting lightly on his bottom lip, a promise of something more. Alex sighs into it and presses his chest against George’s. George’s hand instinctively catches him around his waist. He can feel his hipbone.

“First, you need to eat,” he says, stepping back. “I have some leftover pasta salad in the fridge, but we need to order real food too, OK?”

“OK,” Alex mutters, falling back into the bed with a groan. George smiles, watching him for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen.

When he returns, bowl of pasta salad in hand, Alex is already snoring softly, mouth open, one arm slung over his eyes. He doesn’t wake - doesn’t even make a sound - when George lifts his legs onto the bed, spoons up behind him, and pulls the duvet up, cocooning both of their bodies.

Dinner can wait.


	6. Pretending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Prompt: Pretending to hate each other.
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr - prompt me there!

They’re alone in George’s office. Chest to chest, shirts untucked and halfway unbuttoned, Alex hard against his thigh, lips wet and cherry-red. Distantly, George knows he should move him over to the desk - push aside the day’s work and spread him out (he senses that Alex won’t be able to stand for much longer, anyway, given how heavily he’s leaning on him). He’s nudging him in the direction of the desk, fingers tangled in his hair, when there’s a light knock at the door.

Alex jerks away, tucking in his shirt and adjusting himself in his slacks.

“I thought you said everyone was gone?” he hisses, jumping forward to help George pull his suit jacket back on and fix his tie. He looks at his flushed reflection in the mirror, hanging on George’s wall. “Holy shit - start yelling at me.”

George blinks, still not quite grounded. “What?”

“Start _yelling_ at me.”

George opens his mouth but no words come out. Alex groans, throwing himself into the chair across from George’s desk, and George can see it - the wheels turning in his head.

He shrugs and says, loud, “You were at lunch and we had a deadline! What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

He points at George and gives him a silent, encouraging nod. George clears his throat -

“You, uh - you know better than to send out those reports without my approval,” George says awkwardly, rolling his eyes when Alex bites back a snicker. So George says, darker, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you this instant, Mr. Hamilton.”

Alex’s eyes widen with interest at that. The knock comes again and George looks up to the ceiling, curses under his breath.

“Come _in._ ”

The door creaks open and Burr steps inside, eyes darting between the two of them and resting briefly on Alex’s reddening face. “I - sorry to interrupt. Mr. Washington, before I left - you know I have the rest of this week off, right? -I wanted to remind you of your 8:30 tomorrow morning, and the lunch meeting you set up with Knox, and also that Yale wants the draft of your commencement speech no later than -”

“Add this all to my Google calendar, Mr. Burr, _thank you_.”

Burr nods and backs out, shooting Alex a sympathetic look. They wait until they hear him shuffle out of the office’s main door.

“Jesus Christ,” George says, sinking down into his chair and running his hands over his face. “We can’t keep doing this, Alex, I - ”

But Alex is already walking toward him, smirking as he kneels down in front of his chair and places his hands over George’s knees, gently spreading his thighs.

“Sir. There must be something I can do to earn your forgiveness,” he says, looking up at him through long lashes, hand inching up his inner thigh. “Please. I need this job.”

George raises an eyebrow and Alex stifles a laugh with the back of his hand, shattering the illusion for a moment. But George cradles the back of his head anyway, pulls him in between his legs.

“I can think of a few things.”


End file.
